


cannot have it both ways

by wolfwithpanthereyes



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Canon Era, Character Turned Into a Ghost, M/M, Post-Seine, Pre-Relationship, Supernatural Elements
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-03
Updated: 2019-04-03
Packaged: 2020-01-04 06:34:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,164
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18338132
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wolfwithpanthereyes/pseuds/wolfwithpanthereyes
Summary: A snapshot from your typical Valvert post-Seine AU, with a supernatural twist.





	cannot have it both ways

**Author's Note:**

> Originally written for the prompt "You can't have it both ways" on tumblr.

They are seated besides each other before the fire, allowing the request to share a lounge to go unspoken. It is a cold winter, after all, and Javert is as warmed by Valjean’s thigh against his own as much as the flames before him. Occasionally they will move to turn the page of their respective reading material - Valjean the bible, as per usual, and Javert a newspaper - but for the most part the sole sounds are the crackle of burning kindle and the low whistle of the chill wind against the windowpane attempting to permeate their little sanctuary.

That and the beat of Javert’s heart, captive in his chest and threatening to break the bars of his ribcage.

Surely, Javert thinks, Valjean must hear it. It overpowers Javert at times, this unwanted physical reaction of his body when Valjean resides in close proximity, and it is impossible that Valjean not be aware.

If Valjean notices, however, he gives no show. Instead his gaze is firmly upon the book in his hand, mouth moving to form soundless paragraphs. It is, Javert has found, a luxury Valjean only allows when he is comfortable. Javert had often walked into the room to find Valjean glancing up from book in hand and hastily pressing his lips closed; tonight Valjean has not bothered to hide this trait.

Valjean’s thigh, where it presses against Javert’s, is hotter than the fire.

Javert folds his newspaper promptly. “I will retire,” he announces, breaking the companionable silence with words and a rustle of clothing as he stands. Valjean glances up at him and Javert is displeased to find that removing the touch of Valjean’s thigh from his own has created a longing for the return of it. “Good night, Valjean.”

It is incredible how the simple saying of Valjean’s rightful name can still cause Valjean to flinch, his fingers tightening around his book and his eyes flickering momentarily around the room, as if plotting an escape route. “I will not be much longer myself,” Valjean says simply instead. “Good night.”

Javert nods sharply, tucking the paper under his arm as he retreats to the room he has learned to call his.

“You continue to be rude, Inspector!” A light voice says near-immediately after he has shut the door behind him. “After he shares his fire with you, and all!”

Javert ignores the voice, ignores the near-transparent figure of the young woman seated on his bed with her arms folded. 

Instead he makes for his table, the sole other piece of furniture in this room, reaching for the water jug and splashing a liberal amount into the bowl. The china is freezing beneath his touch and he welcomes the chill even as his fingers ache. 

The spectre, unfortunately, does not ignore him back. “Why do you remain here?” She says instead, seated suddenly on the table besides him. He jumps back on instinct alone; she has played this trick on him before many times. “Why not return to your own home?”

“I never had one,” Javert mutters against his better judgement, dipping his hands into the cold water.

“But surely you must have had a home?” She swings her legs back and forth so they disappear through Javert’s own and reappear on the other side, despite the many times he has told her not to do so.

“They were rooms I rented, nothing more,” Javert corrects her. He does not wish to talk to her tonight, but where her spirit collides with his physical form stings with cold - the very opposite of the burn left by Valjean’s thigh. “They have surely been rented out to another by now.”

The girl huffs, propping a hand beneath her chin. “So this has become your home now. Monsieur Valjean - Fauchelevent - Monsieur seems to be glad to share with you. I wish I knew why.”

“I do not know myself,” Javert allows himself to admit, scraping his nails through his sideburns. “Not after-”

“Not after everything you did to send him to jail, yes,” the girl finishes for him and Javert scowls even though it is the truth. “I was there, remember?”

Javert wishes he didn’t remember. Stepping into the chasm above the Seine only to find himself rescued and nursed back to health by the man who should by all rights wish him dead has caused trauma enough, let alone having the ghost of the girl who died on the barricades hovering in the corner of his eye for most of his recovery.

“And yet you love him,” the Jondrette girl says thoughtfully, and Javert abruptly drops the water he had cupped between his hands back into the bowl. “I wish I knew why.”

Javert does something he has not attempted for many months - he reaches for Éponine’s shoulders, wishing to grasp them and shake her for her insolence.

His hands pass straight through her.

“Ah, ah, Inspector!” Éponine vanishes like an extinguished flame, only to reappear on the other side of the table. “I am only stating that truth! Surely you cannot be so ignorant, after all this time?”

“How dare you-” Javert’s voice chokes as he breaks into a deep-throated cough he has not escaped since the Seine. He grasps for a handkerchief, and still Éponine does not stop talking.

“Why else would you stay here, after you have healed? Do you wish to play the role of mere companion, now Cosette is gone? You think he would wish for you as that companion?”

Javert keeps his mouth covered until his coughing thankfully resides. “Are you not done haunting that girl and her husband yet?” He finally manages, glaring at Éponine with as much of his old steel as he can muster. “Why return to me?”

Éponine frowns at the mention of Valjean’s daughter and son-in-law; from their interactions since she began to haunt him, it remains a sore point for her. “You are the only one living who can see me, remember? It is not through choice.”

“Of course it is not.”

Éponine sighs loudly, which should not be possible as she does not have breath to exhale. “Inspector, you cannot have it both ways. You cannot reside with Monsieur while remaining ignorant of your feelings for him.”

Javert will not rise to the bait. “My feelings for him are gratitude alone.” 

Éponine leans towards him; a moment later the spirit of her hand chills the inside of his wrist. “Then why does your heart quicken?”

Javert yanks his hand away, his other clenched around the edge of the table so hard his knuckles ache. “Leave me,” he says through gritted teeth. “Now.”

Éponine - that abominable girl! - has the nerve to smile at him, nose wrinkling and eyes knowing. “Certainly, Inspector. Good night!”

She disappears with Javert’s next blink, leaving Javert finally, thankfully, alone.

(And if under the covers of his bed he allows his hand to rest against his thigh, where Valjean rested against him earlier? That is entirely his own private concern.)


End file.
